


Cold Hands, Warm Hearts, Boys Being Little Shits

by Wintertree



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintertree/pseuds/Wintertree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People always assume Stiles is the little shit. Ok, sure, he can be a little sarcastic at times, and maybe he never donates that extra dime for starving children at Walgreens or whatever, but the Little Shit Award without a doubt goes to Scott McCall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Hands, Warm Hearts, Boys Being Little Shits

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the tumblr prompt "which person in your otp sticks their cold hands on any of their partner's exposed skin" and "Sciles." Unbeta'd.

People always assume Stiles is the little shit. Ok, sure, he can be a _little_ _sarcastic_ at times, and maybe he never donates that extra dime for starving children at Walgreens or whatever, but the Little Shit Award without a doubt goes to Scott McCall.

– x –

In kindergarten, Nurse Levi hands out grape Otterpops if you come to her with a cut or scrape. Obviously, Stiles abuses the system regularly enough that he’s only given the lame donkey stickers. 

The next time the two of them go to the nurse’s office (a rolling-down-the-hill competition might have been involved), Stiles gets _another_ donkey sticker while Scott gets his Otterpop. Stiles whines and looks so sad that Scott feels a little guilty licking his frozen treat.

So when none of the grown ups are looking, he quickly thrusts out the popsicle to hand to his friend. However, Stiles turns at that very moment and ends up getting frozen grape syrup to the armpit. Stiles makes the loudest, most high pitch squeal Scott has ever heard. Selflessness now forgotten, Scott chases Stiles around, poking him with the popsicle to get him to make that noise again until they’re both sticky and crying from laughter.

Scott starts getting donkey stickers as well.

– x –

When they’re eight, they watch _George of the Jungle_ and decide that George’s tree house with the apes is the coolest thing they’ve ever seen. After dinner they set out to build a fort in Scott’s backyard and get as far as a couple cardboard boxes and branches (that they claim they found on the ground and _not_ on the neighbors’ prize winning lemon tree), before Melissa tells them it’s time to get ready for bed. Several severely aggravating and tantrum filled minutes later, Melissa drags out their old camping tent since the boys insist on sleeping outside.

After the sun goes down and the tent gets significantly chillier, Stiles starts to think that maybe tree houses should only be used in the warmer African climate. In his sleeping bag, Stiles can see Scotts slight frame trembling. Being the saintly friend he is, Stiles drags Scott into his sleeping bag to get warm.

Once sharing the same bag, Scott’s frozen toes jab into his calves and Stiles lets loose a high pitch squawk.

“Sorry Stiles, it was an accident,” Scott says, although his apology is a little dampened by his uncontrollable snickering.

Grumbling and world weary, even for an eight-and-a-half year old, Stiles wriggles his way to the bottom of the bag, narrowly avoiding Scott’s knees and elbows. He rips off his socks and forces them on Scott’s toes, squeezing them to get the blood flowing (and then tickling them for revenge).

Later that night Melissa creeps out to the tent with extra blankets, but even with the added warmth, they continue to share the bag.

– x –

At fourteen, still in Scott’s Clark-Kent-pre-werewolf days, they decide to crash a high school upperclassmen’s party. Stiles’ perfect infiltration plan somehow fails and the two of them have to walk back all the way to Stiles’ house for Mountain Dew and video games. It’s not cliché if it’s classic, Scott.

Of course the walk is hillier than expected and Scott’s asthma starts to flare up. Scott has to sit down on the curb and Stiles pats down his pockets until he finds and passes over the inhaler.

Scott says, “I’m good, I’m good,” but also makes no move to stand up. He’s a little too pale for Stiles to _not_ be concerned, and just his luck he gets his best friend killed trying to infiltrate the cool clique like a goddamn _Disney Channel_ movie. Stiles fusses for a bit, lamenting parties, upperclassmen, and the plight of the classes. By the time Stiles nervously moves on to some hard-hitting critique of capitalist theory, Scott motions for Stiles to get closer. 

“And that’s what I always wondered about Reagan—what? What is it?”

“Stiles.”

“Scott, buddy, everything still ok?”

Scott nods, and then lightening fast places his ice-cold hands on Stiles neck to hear him shriek and spasm onto the sidewalk. Little shit has the decency to look a little guilty under his lopsided grin, but probably just for making a loud noise on the quiet street.

Sighing heavily and adding “best friends” just above capitalism on his list of things to complain about, Stiles sits down next to him. Scott tries to place his cold hands back on Stiles tender, vulnerable extremities, but Stiles claps both of his hands over Scott’s.

Scott might be trying to distract Stiles from his anxiety, but it doesn’t work. It’s a warm summer night and Scott’s fingers must cold from lack of oxygen. Giving one last heavy sigh, he starts to rub back and forth to start up Scott’s circulation again.

If he idly wonders if Scott’s lips would be cold or warm against his own, that’s nobody else’s business.

– x –

Five years later, Stiles learns that Scott’s lips are very, _very_ warm, and way softer than they have every right to be.

He wonders if the heat is a healthy-Scott or werewolf-Scott thing, but then Scott slips him some tongue and he kinda forgets to care.

– x –

They’re together three months when they decide to buy themselves some Otterpops with leftover meal swipes from the university store. Stiles gets maybe halfway through his grape one (it’s a classic flavor, Scott, how the fuck can you eat the blue ones) before getting bored. He maintains eye contact with Scott and felates the popsicle with complete and utter class.

Scott’s eyes visibly dilate and a small growl finds its way out of his chest. Shockingly, he gets bored with his popsicle in favor of a nice make-out session with his boyfriend. It’s getting pretty passionate and heavy until Stiles sticks his hand down Scott’s sweatpants and gropes his crotch with chilled hands. Scott’s strangled yelp is pretty hilarious and Stiles makes it up with a very enthusiastic (and slightly warmer) blowjob. As an added bonus, it lightly stains Scott’s dick purple.

– x –

Ok, maybe Stiles is the little shit.


End file.
